


A Matter of Delicacy

by Mews1945



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-27
Updated: 2006-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 07:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mews1945/pseuds/Mews1945
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo has an embarrassing problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Delicacy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilybaggins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybaggins/gifts).



Aragorn was enjoying his garden in the afternoon sunlight, after a long day spent dealing with court matters. With his head aching, he had left the throne room in the hands of his advisors and guards and sought free air and quiet. He paced along the pebbled paths between flower beds that looked as though they had grown naturally, although he knew just how much thought and care Legolas and Samwise had put into the arrangement of the plantings. Elf and hobbit had worked for weeks to give him this sanctuary, and he was grateful each day for the gift.

He walked with hands clasped behind him, and turned his gaze from flower to flower, taking in the many delicate colors of the blooms and breathing in the sweet scents, and after a time the pain in his head abated. He had decided to go inside when he became aware of a small figure seated on a bench set in deepest shade beneath a wide-canopied tree. The creamy white blossoms there had attracted many bees and their humming song added to the warm peacefulness of the garden.

Aragorn walked nearer to the place where Frodo sat. The Ringbearer often came to the garden in the afternoon, and Aragorn was always pleased to see him there. But as he approached he noticed that his hobbit friend was not reading, nor was he sleeping as he sometimes did in the garden. In fact, Frodo was curled forward, arms wrapped about himself as though he were in pain.

Aragorn hastened his steps and seated himself beside Frodo. He spoke gently to avoid frightening the hobbit.

"Frodo, my friend, are you ill?"

Frodo started and sat up at once, and Aragorn caught a glimpse of eyes dark with distress before the hobbit lowered his gaze, saying, "I am alright."

"I think not. Tell me, Frodo. I know that something is wrong. Is it pain?"

Frodo shook his head and Aragorn saw his brows draw together, a familiar look of obstinacy coming over his face. "I am not ill, Aragorn."

Aragorn knew from long practice in dealing with this particular hobbit that it would take patience to overcome his habitual resistance to care. Dogged, wilful, yet humble. . . the attributes which had made him the only one who could have carried the Ring to Mordor. . .also made him a most frustrating and difficult charge for any healer.

"Come, Frodo, don't you trust me? We have come so far together. Surely you know that I wish only to help you."

"I will speak to Sam. I am sure he can. . ."

"Sam is capable and true, but he is not a healer." Aragorn watched those mobile black brows knit in a scowl and decided that more firmness was called for. He spoke sternly. "Clearly something ails you, Frodo, and you are still my responsibility while you are in my kingdom. I will have the truth from you. Now speak."

"Aragorn!" Frodo straightened and stared at the King of Men with an imperious tilt to his head and a look in his eyes that would have had Sam and the cousins scurrying on their way. "I will not allow you to treat me like a child!" For a moment, he returned Aragorn's calm gaze with an affronted glare, but abruptly lowered his own eyes and averted his face.

Aragorn hesitated, allowing Frodo time to regain his composure, then laid his hand on the hobbit's shoulder and spoke in a much softer voice, the voice of the friend rather than that of the ruler.

"Frodo, what troubles you? Tell me. Allow me to aid you."

But Frodo would not look at him, nor speak. Aragorn waited and finally Frodo moved a bit closer and leaned against the King's arm. Still, he would not look up when Arargorn touched his chin.

"Frodo, please speak to me." Aragorn could not imagine what could have so undone Frodo. "It is not so bad as all that, is it? You know that I am your friend. You can tell me anything."

"It is a matter of some delicacy." Frodo controlled himself and looked up at Aragorn, then lowered his face again, but Aragorn had seen that he was deeply flushed.

"Tell me, Frodo. I promise that you need have no fear."

A deep, shuddering breath and a sigh shook the slender body that rested so trustingly against him and Frodo whispered, "I have a rash."

"Ah." Aragorn paused to school his features against the urge to smile with relief. A rash was a small thing, and very likely to be easily treated. Only Frodo would be so humiliated by such a little thing.

"Well, I am sure we have remedies for almost any rash. There are liquids and powders which can help. But first I must know what kind of rash it may be. Will you come to the House of Healing and allow one of the healers to. . ."

"No." Frodo's tone left no room for negotiation, and Aragorn knew it was pointless to pursue that avenue.

"Very well, Frodo. I will care for you myself."

Frodo sighed again and relaxed and Aragorn rubbed his back gently. "There. We can go to my chambers. I have healing supplies there and if I haven't the needed remedy I will send for it and tell no one for whom I have ordered it. Will that do?"

Frodo nodded, clearly relieved. "Thank you, Aragorn."

Aragorn helped him to his feet and they walked side by side back into the marble hall of the Citadel and along the corridor to the King's chambers. The door guards bowed deeply to the King and made haste to swing open the great doors. They exchanged a puzzled glance when Aragorn bowed and gestured for Frodo to precede him. Clearly, they thought it a marvel that their King should show such deference to anyone.

The great rooms of the King's apartment were luxuriously furnished with the best that the City could provide, but Aragorn paid no heed to the furnishings and the fine hangings and rugs, and Frodo walked with bowed head and lowered eyes. They went to the small room that might have been intended as a study, but which Aragorn had had made into a healing chamber. Its walls were lined with overhead shelves holding bottles and jars filled with the powders and liquids and herbs which were used in treating various illnesses and injuries. In lower shelves were basins, ewers, catch-pots, instruments and devices used in applying stitches and in other aspects of the healing arts. In one corner sat a plain table and a chair. In the middle of the room was a narrow wooden bed with a thin, hard mattress. It was covered with a white sheet and a folded blanket lay across the foot of the bed.

"Now," Aragorn said. "I have neglected to have a step stool brought here, so I will lift you to the examining bed. First, tell me, where is this rash of which you spoke? Is it on your arms or legs or upon some other part of your body? You will need to disrobe if it is on your back or your stomach."

Frodo's cheeks flushed and he lowered his eyes. "The rash is. . .uhm. . .on my bottom," he confessed in a voice so low it was nearly inaudible.

Aragorn nodded. Rashes were to be found on any part of the body, and were nothing to cause such chagrin in the sufferer. Although. . .Aragorn blinked at the thought which occurred to him. Frodo had been much in the company of the King of Rohan lately, and their activities were no secret to anyone in Minas Tirith or in the Rohirrim encampment. For a hobbit who was so reserved, Frodo was quite vocal when taking his pleasures, although his modesty required that no one directly allude to those pleasures. But Aragorn recalled that Eomer and Frodo had recently taken a luncheon to a secluded glade outside the City and Frodo had returned with his hair and clothing disarranged.

"You will need to disrobe completely and lie down on your stomach, so that I may examine the area," Aragorn said.

"Couldn't I simply lower my clothing a bit?" Frodo asked.

"No, Frodo, I need an unobstructed view." Aragorn was kind but stern. "You may cover yourself with the blanket and I will uncover only the parts which must be examined. Come, you have been under my care many times."

"Yes, but never for such an affliction." Frodo sighed. "Will you turn away, please?"

"Of course." Aragorn turned his back and stood with arms folded, listening to the rustle of clothing, and an occasional muttered word that he would have deemed unlikely to ever come from such a soft little mouth. He set his jaw and struggled against the urge to laugh. Finally, after more rustling and more barely audible cursing, Frodo said, "Very well, I am ready."

Aragorn turned. Frodo had undressed and managed to wrap himself in the blanket. Aragorn disciplined himself to show no emotion and stepped forward with a grave nod. "If you will allow me to just lift you beneath your arms. . ."

Frodo nodded. He did not release his tight grip on the blanket as Aragorn carefully lifted him to the table and supported him as he lay down and squirmed onto his stomach. He shivered.

"I know the room is a bit chilly," Aragorn told him, trying to work one end of the blanket free from its place beneath Frodo's body. "I did not expect to have need of a fire here. If you could just lift your hips a bit, Frodo, I will loosen the blanket."

Frodo let out an exasperated sound between his teeth. He lifted his hips from the table and Aragorn was quick to draw the edge of the blanket free before the hobbit settled back down.

"Alright. I am just going to uncover your backside," he said. "No need to be embarrassed, Frodo."

"Not for you," Frodo retorted in a gritty whisper.

Aragorn drew the edge of the blanket down just far enough to uncover the softly rounded bottom that was an object of some interest to a number of the Men and Ladies of the City. He had heard his own guards remark upon it when they thought themselves alone. Since regaining some of the weight he had lost, Frodo elicited audible sighs from many of those who watched him walk away and were treated to the sight of that firm rear flexing with each step he took, particularly when he wore his fitted velveteen breeches. Aragorn himself was not immune to its appeal, although not so enthralled as was his friend, the King of Rohan, who seemed unable lately to think of much beyond his next tumble with the hobbit of his desire.

Unfortunately, the creamy pale skin of that bottom was now dappled with pink splotches and there were a few small blisters amongst them. There were also the marks of scratching, angry and inflamed. The rash extended downward onto Frodo's thighs as well.

"Frodo. . ." Aragorn paused, trying to find a way of asking his question delicately. Frodo raised his head and looked over his shoulder at him. "When you and Eomer had your luncheon, did you indulge in an activity more usually confined to the bedchamber?"

Frodo's face turned rosy. "I fail to see. . ."

"It is important," Aragorn interrupted. "If you perhaps lay on your back, without the protection of clothing or a blanket beneath you, and there was Itchwort there. . ."

"Itchwort?"

"A plant that is harmful to us. Contact with its leaves causes rash and blisters and itching. Does your rash itch? I see that you have scratched a bit."

"Yes, it itches very much," Frodo said. "And yes, we did."

"Did?"

"Indulge."

"Then it is clear that this is Itchwort rash. I have a lotion that will help sooth it and will dry the blisters. It will take several days, but I think I can help you to be much more comfortable. Just a moment and I will apply some of the lotion now."

Frodo lay still and waited. Aragorn brought the bottle of thin, cloudy liquid which he applied gently to the affected skin of Frodo's bottom, telling himself sternly that he must maintain his healer's detachment, even though the areas of unblemished skin were smooth as petals and the bottom was possibly the most appealing he had ever seen.

He was relieved when he was done and could help Frodo off the bed and tell him to dress. He busied himself with fetching a second bottle of lotion from his shelf and put both bottles into a soft leather pouch with a drawstring to close it.

Frodo was dressed by then, and Aragorn gave the pouch to him. "There. This should be enough. Apply it four times a day. And if the itching is very bad at night, you may use it once more. I will have a drying soap put in your bathing room to use only on the rash. Bathe once a day until it is healed."

Frodo looked at the bottles in dismay. "It will require all this?"

"No," Aragorn told him and allowed himself to smile, feeling it safe now to display amusement. "But I am quite sure that you will need enough for the King of Rohan to use on his knees."

Frodo stared at him, expressionless for a moment, then his lips twitched and a smile broke through like the sun through rain clouds. "Yes," he said. "I fear you are right. Thank you, Aragorn."

He left, carrying the pouch tucked close beneath his arm. Aragorn watched him walk away in his close fitting velveteen breeches. And sighed.

 

END


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